


To Market, To Market

by TheArchaeologist



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Demonic Contracts (Kuroshitsuji), Five loves his family, Gen, Helps to know kuroshitsuji, Hurt No Comfort, In a way, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, and will do anything for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: Deep within the depths of fire and suffering, a cry is heard, a demon answers, and a deal, one with the deadliest of bargains, is reached.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	To Market, To Market

“He’s calling. With sorrow. With anger. With _despair_. He spits out curses and they fall like flames from his tongue, summoning me to him.”

There are others crawling their way up, knocking down the less powerful as they clamber towards the soul. Hunger lingers in their eyes, a greed unmatched by any being. They will take their meal and swallow it whole, barely pausing to savour the taste, the texture, the spice.

That won’t do.

“My, my.” Stepping forward, he regards the pathetic figure huddled in the dirt with an air of amusement, all the while holding the others at bay. They roar at him from the darkness. “Aren’t you a grubby little thing.”

 _Little_ is right. When the tear-wrought face snaps towards him, sunburned cheekbones disguise just how painfully gaunt this man is, the ratty beard filling where cheeks ought. His fingers, where they have been clutching fruitlessly at his rat’s nest hair, are like the legs of a spider; thin, fragile, and so easy to break.

The man pants. His eyes are a piercing blue.

“You have summoned me here today. That can never be changed.”

“Summoned?”

Oh, that voice, raspy with disuse, raw from sobs, broken by screams, yet, beneath it all, it is stern, it is strong, like a cliff facing out to stormy sea. For as much as the ocean erodes and chips away with her briny waves, tackling with her mighty fury, there it stands, greeting each one with an unwavering, stubborn determination.

Even now, clearly dehydrated, bleeding, and deprived, this one recovers quickly, and sharp, finely tuned gears begin to whirl away in that not-quite broken head. Those eyes, strangely similar to the ones of not long ago (for him, anyway) greedily drink him in, until the cogs tick to the correct song.

The others rattle against their confinements. The bird-boned human pays them no mind, but their scraping at his bounds is enough to spur his pace a touch faster than he would normally desire.

“It is hard to believe someone such as yourself still processes the strength to reach me.” Walking closer, he stares down his nose as the blinking man, smirking. “Doing so was no easy feat.”

Humans, at times, are difficult and finicky creatures to read, and at his words something changes in the man’s face. The brows knit closer, his teeth grit, and he heaves himself to his feet with the kind of self-assurance that tells of a lifetime of being forced to stand on his own.

“I’m adaptable.”

He snorts. “Quite, but are you adaptable enough for _me?_ There’s only so much skin and bones can do before they croak out and die, and that would be terribly boring.”

“So, it’s a game you’re after.” A statement, not a question.

Grey hair and shorter, and this knobbly, knotted man could be _him._

“In a way, it is tedious to spend eternity chained to the same routine, after all.” His grin turns demonic, and, slowly, as if he were about to whisper in the ear of a dearly beloved feline, he purrs, “But what I am really after, my frail lord, is your _soul._ ”

“My soul?”

“A demon needs to eat, yes? And what better a dish to feast upon than a soul such as this?” He reaches up, letting the tips of his fingers tug at a tangle in that ragged hair. “Fury, anguish, _guilt-_ ”

A swift punch to the face sends his head reeling, the suddenness of the move enough to shake his barriers, just a smidge. Those trapped within wail for their freedom, begging to get close.

He grits his teeth in a growl, humour sinking.

“Don’t get so familiar, beast.” The man spits, standing, and there is fire in his eyes. “You have no claim yet.”

“But what I have to offer is what you most desire, hope that you can somehow save your precious family, that you’ll live long enough to see your mission through to the end.”

Usually, he would take the time to gather specifics, it is no use running into a contract blind, after all. However, the others are becoming pesky, he can feel the tendrils of their dark power starting to snake into his own. If no move is made soon, he will lose his pray to the wilds of hungry dogs.

“You can ensure my survival, and the saving of my family?”

“If my master wishes for it to be so, then as his pawn, that is my move.” His old master did so much enjoy a game of chess, and judging by the look that flickers across sun-red features, it does not go amiss here. “I would be but your humble servant, your knight to attack or your bishop to defend, until you inevitably draw checkmate.”

“You’re telling me you’d do everything I say?”

“I would.”

“Until I can stop the apocalypse from happening, until I save my family?”

Ah, he has knowledge of a future destruction, isn’t that intriguing? Perhaps that is the reason for this poor mutt’s appearance. The man who knew too much, so was cast out from society, never suspected to survive.

The others hammer their confinements. They are ravenous, more so than usual.

This must be finished soon.

Details shall have to wait. He is more than capable.

_After all, what kind of butler would-_

“Yes.”

“Then, in exchange, you eat my soul?”

“And to be clear, should you agree to our deal, the gates of paradise will forever be out of your reach.”

It is his turn to snort. “Yeah? Well, I doubt I was going there anyway.”

The others inch closer. Their combined strength is enough to unsteady his footing for half a second.

“So, do you choose to accept?”

“Can I make conditions?”

“Yes, name them now.”

“Never lie to me.” The dishevelled man demands, and inwardly he chuckles. 

What would his little lord think of this? He can almost picture it.

_“What an interesting new pet you have there, Sebas-”_

“Never manipulate me. Never keep secrets. Never cause me harm.”

There is no need to go prying into cinematic records to understand the past of this one.

Seemingly out of breath, the man pauses, regarding him, that unshakable cliff face core as solid as steel even when wariness clouds his eyes.

It takes him a moment to realise that the wariness is not formed in fear of the deal and the thing most precious he is handing away, but rather, despite the waves of blackness looming around them, the cries of the others catching the wind in their howling fury, the doubting of the beast before him, and his ability to see it through to the desired conclusion.

How insulting. How demeaning.

How utterly enchanting.

He has not failed a contract yet.

Cracked lips are licked. “And never hurt my family. You may be a dog, but you remain muzzled until I give the order.”

_“It was the name of my dog.”_

What brats humankind make, especially those with such limited options.

“I shall promise to do all this, to protect you, to serve you, to see your goals through to the bitter end, all in exchange for your soul.”

“When then, demon, do we have a deal?”

Whisking the words right from the monster’s mouth.

This meal shall be exquisite.

Taking those songbird bones, those spider’s legs, the aged, shaking fingers into his, he allows for talons to clasp the pray until pricks of beautiful crimson dot on grimy skin.

They shake.

“It is agreed.”

Snapping forward, he thrusts his palm across one of those stunning blue eyes, fire and ice and thunder itself pouring into the iris of his batted and filthy master. Tears of red cut across the dust coating his face, and a staggered, hoarse yell rips from his already parched throat.

The others scream, tearing themselves apart with their loss. Their power ebbs into a woeful retreat.

The more obvious the mark, the stronger the power, the tighter the leash.

His prideful little Lord would have been outraged at his mirroring with this lowly mongrel, but they did so enjoy their jests, did they not?

As he pulls away, the back of his hand searing, sizzling with the formation of an unbreakable contract, he allows his form to melt away, becoming something altogether more human, yet altogether not.

His master tumbles to his knees, clutching his face.

“Now then,” He says, hungry teeth filling his smile, “Let us begin, my Lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sup, so, here's a lighthearted little au I've been messing around with on tumblr under the tag 'book of the apocalypse'. Isn't it fun? Kuroshitsuji fans, feel free to play Spot the Quote!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Because 2021 is the year of recognising and acknowledging when a project would result in complete burn out (something I fell into a bad habit of doing, often forcing myself to complete works and wrecking my enthusiasm and energy), I'm not particularly planning for this to turn into a Thing. I may add more, I might, one day, do something proper with it, but I please ask not to be harried over continuing this. I am discussing this on tumblr, though, so go there for more ideas, drabbles, and snippets.


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